


Will you marry me, Jon Snow?

by Minita



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: But their children will be so pretty, Cousin Love, F/M, Fluff, Jon Snow obviously knows nothing, Jonsa crack, Marriage Proposal, Not smutty but a few naughty thoughts, Sansa is a smart cookie, They are both so vain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:47:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26457403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minita/pseuds/Minita
Summary: Due to insomnia I wrote this very fluffy nonsensical one shot. All I can say is Jon Snow has very good teeth. And Sansa is slaying in her wolf bit dress.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 12
Kudos: 67





	Will you marry me, Jon Snow?

Jon.

It’s not a humble thought to have but Jon is so proud of himself. When Lord Manderly approached him the first time he believed his petition was some sort of sick joke, weird as it was. He acknowledges he can be quite impatient and that’s nothing to be proud of, but once he listened to the elderly lord, once he _truly_ listened, it was all really simple.

It makes a lot of sense, honest, once you think about it. He might be a kneeler, a Queenslayer, and worst, a Targaryen, but those things barely mattered to the northern lords. They wanted to convince their Queen to marry, and having failed on their own, they recruited the help of her Grace’s closest relative, him. He really shouldn’t be so cocky about it but he can’t help to smile to himself ( _perhaps it’s vain but he’s very grateful for his even teeth_ ) as he walks towards Sansa’s chambers.

It was a marvellous work he did ( _smiles to himself again, can’t help it_ ), a work of diplomacy and tact, and frankly, of brotherly love. Sansa had refused all her suitors for two full years, and her lords were desperate. Desperate for a proper northern husband, a man whose affections for Sansa were sincere, and who did not desire her crown. Desperate for heirs.

Sansa has blossomed under her responsibilities, ( _he noticed her figure is a bit fuller, more womanly),_ the weight of the crown suits her, she’s sweeter, and her confidence shines brighter than ever behind her beautiful blue eyes ( _surely a cousin can admit to such, it’s not a sin)_.

After long and delicate negotiations _(Sansa demanded her decision to be indisputable, as the clever one she is),_ Jon was able to announce proudly to the lords his efforts had yielded results. Sansa, Queen of Winter, the First of her name will announce her decision publicly. The Great Hall will be packed tonight, and buzzing with anticipation.

The gratefulness of the lords was palpable ( _even Lord Glover’s, since he suggested his own nephew for the job_ ), but Jon’s true satisfaction was to see Sansa so serene, so happy that the future of House Stark has been secured through a marriage in which she actually had a saying for a change.

Perhaps the only sad note of the whole affair is for himself, since obviously once the favoured candidate has been named ( _preferably not Lord Glover’s nephew, he has crooked teeth_ ), he will leave for Castle Black again. The new king consort won’t be comfortable with him around, the former king, traitor and Targaryen cousin.

He sighs. No matter. As long as Sansa is happy and the future secured.

Sansa.

Her blue velvet dress is a bit tight (she really should stick to one lemon cake for dessert) but once her hair is done she smiles at the mirror, pleased with what she sees. She watches Jon in her mirror as he comes in, grinning widely, his perfect teeth spotless clean. He’s particular about it, her cousin, even before battles he always had time to brush them.

“Are you ready? They are waiting for you.”

When she gets up from the chair he seems to freeze for a moment, taking her in. Her dress, her hair. She stands there looking very poised. And dutiful. That too.

“Do you remember it? The dress?”

He seems to remember it all right.

“I...mmm...yes, your, your chest, I mean...the wolf...bit”

She can’t help to look at his ill fitted leather jerkin, his old boots and worn out cloak. She’s going to be sewing like crazy in the coming weeks. He seems too shocked to talk so she takes the initiative.

“I wanted to see you in private before... I wanted to tell you of my choice.”

“Oh”. Finally. Move that pretty mouth of yours, cousin. “I...I am sure whoever you chose will...be honoured with your...affections” He stutters.

She has searched in all the North, even the Vale and other Kingdoms. She has hosted them here (even a couple of boisterous wildling chiefs once), danced with them, heard endless poems, songs and speeches, touched countless small hands, cold hands, soft hands. Only the lemon cakes made those meetings tolerable.

“Do you think he would want me?”.

“Of course!” He blurts, “How could he not? I mean, you are gorgeous and, well, smart, and if he says no to you, l declare him the biggest fool.”

Gorgeous? Well. She pushes her chest out just a bit, just for posture, mind you.

“A fool he might be but I trust him, I am certain he will be loyal to me, and will protect me, and not covet my crown”. She grabs his hand. His very _big_ hand. Warm and calloused. “He was raised in Winterfell, we grew together”.

He takes a step back, eyes wide. She keeps his gaze.

“But, Sansa, you could have any man you wanted, much better men than me”.

Taller maybe. More fashion sense too. Better? Well.

“Do you not want me?”.

Jon brushes his thumb along the back of her hand. If he places those hands on her tights, she.. _.oh._ Focus Sansa. You-are-Queen. A professional.

“Are you sure they will approve of me? Your lords?”.

“They are desperate for an heir, you said it yourself, so much so that they will approve my candidate.”

He lets go of her hand and grabs her by the waist, so close their breaths mingle. She feels quite foggy in her head, but she’s a Queen, poised and dutiful. She places her hands on his shoulders, but if he moved his hand a bit lower... Focus Sansa.

She clears her throat, “Jon Snow, cousin” they are both grinning ( _their children will have such white and even teeth_ ), “will you marry me?”.

**Author's Note:**

> I am weirdly convinced Jon is vain and Sansa a bit too. I hope it came out as funny and not too cringe. Some very mild smut.


End file.
